


It's Not Gay (If We're Not In Love)

by Grand Buzz (quodpersortem)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Character Development, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, Internal Conflict, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Shotgunning, WWA Tour, Weed Usage, it might become part of a series, some stuff is definitely homophobic though so read at your own risk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 07:09:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2642759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quodpersortem/pseuds/Grand%20Buzz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam's 100% Not Gay. He's not. He <i>is</i> stoned, though, and in need of cuddles and affection. (And maybe he's also <i>kind of</i> jealous when he watches Louis and Zayn <s>kiss</s> shotgun, but he's definitely not thinking about that because he is definitely Straight). Things kind of spiral from there. </p><p>Or: the one where Liam is straight but gets off with Zayn anyway (and everyone else's seen it coming for years).</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not Gay (If We're Not In Love)

**Author's Note:**

> There is a Russian translation made available by [Gerlinda](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Gerlinda/pseuds/Gerlinda) [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4145148)

When Zayn asks him, “Wanna shotgun?” Liam’s not sure how he’s supposed to respond.

They’re all gathered in Bus 1, the smell of grass strong enough that there’s no doubt anyone walking past the vehicle can smell it. That’s... that’s something Liam’s surprisingly okay with, these days.

Cool as he may be with that, the weed hasn’t settled in enough that he’s comfortable with the idea of someone else’s lips (that are not girl’s lips) on his own. Hazy as he is, he shrugs. “S kinda gay, innit?”

Louis snorts, and Liam glares at him. Louis has no right to speak for Liam, here, not while he’s sitting between Harry’s legs getting his hair petted.

“S not gay when you’re drunk, is it?” Niall laughs, and Liam frowns harder because he’s _pretty_ sure Zayn had been the one to kiss him that time—and besides, he’d thrown up after that which had made it not-gay.

“Not unless you’re Harry and Louis,” he says, the words coming slow as molasses. His brain’s not working quite right anymore, God, and now all of the others are staring at him.

“C’mon,” Louis jibes, prodding his toe into Liam’s thigh. “If you’re not gay, then there’s nothing wrong with locking lips with another boy, right?”

Liam shrugs again, because he doesn’t _know—_ feels like he knows absolutely nothing right now, in fact. “I dunno,” he says. “Kind of is, though.”

“We wouldn’t mind if you were, like, a _little_ ,” Niall shrugs from where he’s been observing them from his corner. “Gay. I mean.”

“Why do you insist I am?” he wonders, and then Zayn’s face is in front of him.

“Cos we want you to join in when we shotgun, yea? Cos it’s, like, I dunno.”

Liam tries to push Zayn off when he tries to clamber into his lap, but it’s not working—and then he’s so close to Liam, too, his eyes and his nose and his lips, and maybe Niall’s right because it doesn’t _feel_ particularly wrong to think about kissing Zayn’s lips. Then he tries to think about kissing Niall, and that does feel sorta wrong. Thinking about kissing Lou and Haz is even worse though.

The hand in his hair feels good though, and his eyes slip closed as Zayn pets him for a while.

“Wouldn’t shotgunning Lou or Haz be like cheating?” he manages to utter eventually, the thought bubbling up from his lazy mind, and he can feel Zayn laugh in his lap even if he’s quiet.

“Nah,” Louis speaks up. “Harry here doesn’t mind if I kiss him after. Zayn, maybe we gotta show him how to do it.”

“Yeh,” Zayn says, still looking at Liam, still in Liam’s laps. “We should.”

He gets the blunt from _somewhere_ , inhaling deeply, and Liam’s breath almost hitches. Then Zayn’s pulling Louis up from where he’s still reclined against Harry, his fingers pressing into his skin and his jaw. Liam watches as their lips open, as Zayn slowly exhales into Louis’ mouth, as Louis inhales the smoke before pressing the gap between them closed for a second. Their lips touch, mouths still opened as Zayn exhales the last air, and they linger for a moment longer.

When they draw apart, Liam can see their tongues pressing together. There’s a string of spittle connecting their lips, only snapping when Louis smirks and wipes his fingers across his lips.

Harry pulls him back possessively, arms curling around Louis’ waist.

Liam thinks he forgot to breathe for a while, feeling light-headed and possibly a little faint.

He only snaps out of it when Niall whistles before hooting, “That was _hot_.”

Zayn’s back to staring at Liam.

“So, how ‘bout it?” he whispers in his ear—and he doesn’t know if it’s the smoke or something else that makes him want to nod, so badly. To ignore the voices in his head that say, that say, that say it’s not a good thing to do.

He can’t speak, the words stuck in his throat. Can’t say _no_ because it’s not a no, can’t say _yes_ because he’s afraid.

Harry’s in the process of pushing Louis off him, giggling as they tickle each other, and then they’re up and walking away. “We’re gonna go to Bus 2,” Harry laughs, and Liam knows Harry’s possessive jealousy when he sees it and realises in that moment that he’s really quite jealous of how Louis got to kiss Zayn.

He’s still frozen in place when Niall leaves to his bunk seconds after, throwing them a wink, and then Liam is finally unstuck, can finally lift his arms—and Zayn must think he’s going to push him off, flinching when Liam puts his hands on Zayn’s hips.

“Okay,” he says, his voice strangely quiet—the quality of the situation weird, unlike them, but that only seems fitting.

“Okay?” Zayn nods, smiling slowly as he puts the joint back to his lips. He takes a long draw, the embers lighting up and burning until it’s almost down to the roach. Zayn holds in the smoke while he reaches back to stub it out, and then his fingers are on Liam’s neck—cold and tender and then a little firmer as the thumbs press against the edge of his jaw.

Liam opens his mouth as he closes his eyes, and then Zayn presses their mouths together. There’s hardly any pressure and the smoke is sweeter, less irritable to his throat and lungs than when he takes a straight hit.

Liam’s lungs expand around the smoke easily, and when he breathes out, Zayn takes the remnants back in, the two of them existing in symbiosis for a long moment as they pass the thinning smoke back and forth.

Zayn doesn’t let him go after that.

His thighs press around Liam’s, and Liam’s got his clammy hands still in the same place on Zayn’s hip. They are waiting again, suspended in the tension that’s been building since Zayn came up with the idea to shotgun (since they decided to smoke up, since—Liam’s not sure since when, too familiar with this feeling to only have felt it today).

When Zayn finally kisses him, slow and tender and with one hand back in Liam’s hair to stroke his scalp, Liam goes with it. He presses his tongue against Zayn’s, deepens the kiss, chases away the dryness on their tongues as he carefully brings up one hand—wipes it off the pillow next to him—to put in Zayn’s neck and keep him in place.

Liam doesn’t think he’s had a better kiss in his life, and that’s surprising. Strange. A little scary, maybe.

He feels like he’s floating, and there’s a heat expanding from someplace within himself except Zayn was the one to light it.

The kiss hasn’t even stopped yet and Liam already wants more of this, ignoring the little voice in his head telling him he’s _not gay_ as he greedily pulls Zayn a little closer—as close as he can get and it’s still not enough. Zayn makes a little sound, something in between a whine and a moan, and then his hands are gone from Liam’s head and his face and he’s pushing against Liam’s shoulder.

Liam refuses to move along, so Zayn pulls away, sounding frustrated as he tells Liam, “Lie down.”

“Oh,” Liam frowns as he goes along with Zayn’s wishes, twisting until he’s flat on his back on the couch, and then Zayn’s diving on top of him.

If having Zayn sit in his lap felt great, then having him lie on top of him feels like heaven, Liam thinks. His arms slide around him as Zayn starts to snog him again, their hips slowly rolling together as Liam puts one hand on Zayn’s arse. It’s small and it’s firm and when he squeezes it makes Zayn roll his hips down more firmly, faster, like he wantsneeds more the same way Liam does.

It’s strange because it doesn’t _feel_ gay. Zayn’s body is definitely not any worse to touch than a girl’s would be, nor is Liam too apprehensive about touching him, nor is he turned off by the way he can feel Zayn’s cock press against his hip.

No, Liam’s definitely not turned off, if the way he can feel his own cock filling up is an incentive. He wonders if he should be, right now, if it’s just his body responding to the idea of sex or if it’s his body responding to the fact that Zayn’s a _guy_. If this means he’s _attracted_ to Zayn.

But regardless of those thoughts, it’s easy to go along with it now, no hardship at _all_ to put his other hand on Zayn’s bum as well and grind their groins together more firmly.

They moan at the same time, and Liam finds himself staring at Zayn feeling an emotion that’s—it’s not quite shock, but he’s pulled back into the present and it’s happening. It’s going to happen, and his heart knocks up a beat and Zayn smiles down at him.

“It’s fine, Li,” he leans in to whisper in Liam’s ear, his hand back in his hair as he starts to press little kisses to the tender skin of Liam’s neck. “It’s all fine, it’s—“ and it feels so good that Liam turns his head to give him more space, the tension that suddenly overcame him ebbing away again. It’s—yeah it’s a little more gay than what they usually do, probably. Liam minds a little, but Zayn doesn’t and Niall said he wouldn’t mind and Louis and Harry are the last to complain.

“Zayn,” he says, his voice shivery as he tests the way the vowel tastes when he’s turned on. It feels _good_ and then he needs to repeat it, needs to talk, the weed loosening his tongue. “Zayn, _Zayn_ —“

“What’s it, babe?” Zayn murmurs, pushing back up to watch Liam. “You wanna stop?” Liam shakes his head, because he’s sure—he doesn’t want to, it feels too good. “Go on?”

“Yeah,” he croaks, and then he’s pulling Zayn back in for a kiss.

It’s more than a little dirty this time around, with the way Liam’s lips feel slick with spit and how Zayn desperately grinds his groin down against Liam’s. He’s wriggling a little, breaking the kiss for a couple of second as he changes his position on top of Liam, and then his hands are at the hem of Liam’s shirt.

“Off?” he asks, his eyes big and dark, and Liam shivers as he nods.

Zayn’s knuckles are cold where they brush over Liam’s skin when he sits up a little, helps Zayn pulling off the shirt. He feels exposed, especially with the way Zayn’s eyes roam over his chest, wide open and hungry and _wanting_.

In a momentary lapse of reason (and a lapse of heterosexuality), Liam’s own hands find Zayn’s shirt, and Zayn helps him, lifting his arms as Liam pulls it off and throws it aside.

For a long moment, he stares at Zayn’s chest. The tattoos look faded in the dim light, blending gorgeously into his tan like they were sketched on with a pencil, and Liam finds himself tracing the lipstick print on his sternum before holding Zayn still, hands on the curve of his ribcage as he presses a kiss over the ink.

Zayn helps him sit up better, settling back in his lap again, and it’s in that moment that Liam decides that he might as well stop worrying and enjoy it the best he can. He’s tried to come up with reasons to say no, to push Zayn off, but for some reason _that’s kind of gay_ isn’t—doesn’t feel like a good enough reason. Because, this is going to happen regardless of that, and it’s leaving him nervous and naked and more than a little scared about what this means for him, but. _But_.

He leans in tentatively, putting his mouth to Zayn’s chest again, and Zayn keeps him there as Liam starts to kiss the smooth skin, nips at it, marvels at how soft Zayn’s chest feels against his lips regardless of there being no boobs.

When he presses his tongue against Zayn’s nipples there’s no immediate response, and it takes a moment before he realises why and to think of what he likes done to himself—and when he bites down gently, Zayn’s muscles tighten and he moans, low and gravelly, and Liam’s cock definitely jumps in his joggers.

Going by the way Zayn grabs Liam’s face and kisses him, he’s felt it too.

Liam’s feeling like he’s burning up, and Zayn’s hips are rolling against his own in a perfect rhythm but it’s also nowhere near enough (even if he thinks—it might have been this easy, if he’d been sober, but they’d never gotten to this point if he had been).

And he’s—and he wants to know if it’s as easy to manhandle Zayn as it is with a girl. It means that one moment Zayn’s still writhing in his lap, and the next Liam’s got him pressed under him on the couch, a little dizzy with the sudden movements. Zayn’s fingers rake down his back as Liam dips down to kiss Zayn’s mouth, his jaw, his collarbones where he sucks a mark into the tan skin. This he can do. It helps, it helps that he’s above Zayn now, that Zayn’s currently clean-shaven, that the weed makes him worry less even if the anxiety is still there in the pit of his stomach.

When Liam starts to move his hips, Zayn starts to talk to him. “You don’t have to,” and “God, yes” and “You feel so good” and it’s only then that Liam realises Zayn’s fingers aren’t as steady as they usually are, that they shake the same way Liam’s do.

“I want to,” he manages, and he avoids Zayn’s eyes as he says it because, because, but he does _mean_ it. God, does he ever mean it.

The thought of touching someone else’s dick is, surprisingly, a lot less daunting now he’s turned on and feeling Zayn’s cock hard against his hip. And it’s been pressing there for a while, but—but Liam’s pretty sure he’s ready now and in all honesty—He’s a little curious.

He’s curious about _it_ , how Zayn’s—how he’d feel in Liam’s hand. If it’s the same as his own cock, or different, harder or softer or thicker or thinner. If he likes the same things, if he comes as easily when someone else wanks him off.

He wants to have Zayn going dripping wet at the tip the way Liam gets when he’s close. He wants to make him come, he wants to be good enough to do that and see what this is all about. He wants to see Zayn’s O-face, and then he wants to wank off and come all over Zayn’s abs. He wants to see Zayn get sleepy afterwards.

He wants to hear Zayn gasp his name and smile at him.

“Oh _God_ ,” he moans, shoving his hips against Zayn’s again. Pleasure spreads through his body and he shudders as Zayn groans underneath him.

Zayn spreads his legs and Liam feels him, his hard cock rolling against his own as he keeps grinding their hips together but he doesn’t think anything can scare him off anymore, not even Zayn’s hand when he slips it down the back of Liam’s pants, grabbing his arse and squeezing hard.

“Can I see you?” Zayn murmurs in his ear. “Like, you can say no, but-“

Liam doesn’t know what to make of it that his response is, “Yes,” without thinking, what it means that he wants Zayn to see his cock hard (and hard because of another bloke), so instead he decides to throw aside all worries for now. He lifts his hips away from Zayn’s so Zayn can slide down his joggers, and then his fingers trail over the bulge in Liam’s boxers, stopping momentarily to rub at the damp spot that’s formed at the head.

“You’re big,” Zayn huffs out a laugh against the skin of Liam’s neck, and then he’s pushing down Liam’s pants too, avoiding touch as he lifts the waistband so his cock slips out easily, curving towards his stomach.

They both stare at it for a while, and then Zayn’s reaching his hand out, hovering mid-air. “Can I touch you, Li?”

And Liam knows, knows why Zayn keeps asking but he’s at a point where he wishes he didn’t because every time Zayn does, his stomach goes a little tight with nerves, with more than simple anticipation. He nods, slowly, not taking his eyes off his own erection as Zayn curls his fingers around it.

The first stroke feels like nothing but _sweet relief_ , finally getting what he wants, and his arms tremble a little as he tries to keep himself up.

Zayn’s hand looks good on his cock, too, his thin fingers standing out against the flushed red, and he pulls the foreskin over the head with a little pinch, and Liam’s really, really not going to last much longer. Especially not if he keeps looking, if he keeps staring at the tendons rolling under the inked skin, the curve of Zayn’s wrist that’s _almost_ more like a girl’s than a guy’s.

“I wanna see you too,” he manages to gasp out, closing his eyes for a moment as he thrusts into Zayn’s hand. “Lemme see you too.”

Zayn’s hand is gone, then, and for one heartshattering moment Liam thinks that that’s going to be it, that Zayn’s going to laugh at him and say he’s obviously gay after all, but then he hears Zayn gasp and when he looks down he sees—

He sees another guy’s cock, hard and leaking a clear string of precome onto his lower belly, and for a moment he thinks something’s looking a little wrong with Zayn but then he realises that he’s cut. It’s a little shorter than his own, a little thinner too from the looks of it, and—and Zayn’s recently trimmed his pubes and all Liam wants to do is touch him.

“You can,” Zayn tells him, his hand suddenly in Liam’s hair and—and it’s not the one that was on his cock earlier, at least. “Touch.”

“Okay,” he nods. His hands don’t move, and he can see Zayn smile a little before he kisses Liam and then—then—

“Lemme show you how I like it,” Zayn says. And just like that, he’s gone from wanking Liam to wanking himself, slow and avoiding the head and really quite tight. “S not that difficult,” he whispers in Liam’s ear, letting go again and grabbing Liam’s wrist, his hand hot and a little sticky, guiding it to his cock until Liam’s fingers brush the silky skin. “Just. You can do it, Li.”

And when Liam looks into Zayn’s eyes—probably for the first time since they whipped out their cocks, since they landed in this position even—he sees how Zayn genuinely means it, his expression open and trusting.

“Okay,” he says, carefully taking a hold of Zayn’s cock. Okay, okay, _okay,_ his mind repeats. Zayn gasps when he moves his hands down, and he tenses up when Liam accidentally slides all the way up to the head and—right, yes, without the extra skin that must feel dry and too sensitive probably.

Zayn’s own hand goes back to jerk off Liam, and it’s a little hard to coordinate himself enough to stay propped up on one arm, _and_ wank off Zayn, _and_ getting a handjob himself at the same time. Especially as he thinks he’d like to kiss Zayn again, deep and sweet.

He feels Zayn’s leg curl around the back of his thigh, bringing them a little closer so their hands brush together, the slick _slapslapslap_ of skinonskin getting more audible as they both get wetter, move faster—and then Zayn’s leg moves up, tries to pull him closer, and Zayn asks, “Okay?”. Liam barely knows what he’s agreeing to this time, and then their hips knock together.

Liam’s hand gets stuck between their bodies and he takes it away, only then realising that this means that their cocks are pressed together. It feels—it feels different, kind of strange, but he thrusts forward again anyway and then Zayn’s fingers curl around both their erections, pressing them close and giving him something to fuck into, to fuck against.

“You do the work, yeah?” Zayn murmurs, sliding his lips against the skin of Liam’s jaw, and Liam nods as he moves in for another kiss, rolling his hips with a steady rhythm.

The kiss is good, great, and it helps taking the edge off the way pleasure’s building fast in his belly. He can feel the way his orgasm is building now, his movements getting faster on their own accord, and Zayn’s other leg comes up as well to hook around his thigh.

It makes the thrusting he’s doing easier, and he has to break the kiss then because he’s breathing too fast to keep going.

“C’mon, Li,” Zayn moans under him, his free hand going back to squeeze his arse. “Come on, you can do it, ‘s okay, come for me baby—“

And then Liam _is,_ is coming undone, spilling between them, the thick and heavy semen slicking the way as he keeps fucking Zayn’s hand through his orgasm. His arms are shaking where they’re planted into the cushions next to Zayn’s shoulders, and Zayn lets go of them for a moment only to give Liam full attention again, squeezing the last drops from his cock and dragging the tip of his finger across the slit to wipe them up, making him shiver again.

When he opens his eyes again, he finds Zayn staring at him like he’s something amazing.

“What?” he murmurs, leaning in to peck at Zayn’s lips.

“You have no idea, do you?” Zayn whispers, cryptically, and Liam furrows his brows because—what is that supposed to mean. He shakes his head and Zayn lets out a shaky laugh.

“Can I do you?” he asks instead, because he doesn’t like it when Zayn talks in riddles that he doesn’t understand.

“Can—God, yes,” Zayn laughs harder this time around, his hips pushing up against Liam’s and it still feels good even if it’s a bit much on his softening cock. “Please, _yes_ , make me come.”

And Liam wants to make it _so_ good for Zayn, he does, but he only gets in five, six strokes tops—only feels _just_ like he’s getting it right, maybe, hopefully—when Zayn throws back his head and digs his fingers into Liam’s back. Liam stares at his face as he feels his fingers get wet with Zayn’s come, feels his cock twitch in his hands with every spurt, and it looks—it looks like a really good orgasm.

Zayn bats away his hand then, blushing a little as he mutters, “Too much.” Liam goes with it easily, wondering whether he should sit up or lay down in the mess.

“Let’s clean up, yeah?” Zayn asks after a while, when Liam’s still wondering. He pushes himself off, muscles stiff, and needs to sit down for the next several moments because he’s feeling dizzy—his knees are unstable and the room’s spinning a little. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he answers Zayn, watching him fumble around with some tissues, wiping off the puddles of come –and shit, there’s so, so much more than Liam’s used to. “Just a little cold.”

That’s true. The bus has cooled down significantly, or maybe it’s simply because he’s lost his shirt and has his trousers around his ankles—shit, he’s essentially naked. Liam figures that his legs can carry him again, so he gets up and pulls up his trousers, tucking himself in before turning around and finding Zayn watching him from where he’s still half-naked on the couch.

“Do you-“ Zayn starts, and he’s a little nervous even if he doesn’t sound it. “Do you wanna cuddle, maybe?”

Liam knows from experience that the bunks are a little small for two grown people, and if this is post-orgasm cuddling it’s a bit, a bit _much_ , but—

“I’m cold too. Like, just to keep each other warm.”

And honestly, who is Liam to say no to that?

**Author's Note:**

> hiii drop by to say hi on [my tumblr](http://nobetterbumthantomlinson.tumblr.com/)!!


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